


Concert

by CadetDru



Category: Metalocalypse, Venture Bros
Genre: Apocalypse, Concert, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-20
Updated: 2009-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-04 19:28:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CadetDru/pseuds/CadetDru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Venture Brothers go to a Dethklok concert.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Concert

**Author's Note:**

  * For [grozba](https://archiveofourown.org/users/grozba/gifts).



Triana was back at her dad's for the holidays: Christmas, Solstice, and Chanukah. She was wandering around the compound. Half the families who had lived there were gone. She was just trying to find her dad, carry her books, and not run into creepy Doctor Venture. She bumped into Dean instead. Her books went flying, Dean fell down because he had roughly the body mass of an eight-year-old girl, and she was now all the more likely to run into Doctor Venture because this was his favorite son. But it was Dean and she had kind of missed him. So, maybe it was good? She didn't know.

Dean had been looking for her. He probably had an alarm set to alert him when she was in the compound. "I am so sorry!" Dean said, pointlessly. "Let me help you pick those up."

Triana did not actually smack his hand away. She had kind of missed him. It was nice to have someone who would always be there, even if he did act a little like a robot. "No, it's fine, I've got it."

He ignored her, continuing to try to help. "What's this?"

Triana had to look. Dean was holding her hardbound copy of "Johnny the Homicidal Maniac."

"Who's he?" Dean asked, flipping through the pages.

She gave this question the due consideration it deserved: not a lot. "He's. . .a homicidal maniac. Named Johnny. It's kind of complicated but not really."

Dean frowned. "Is this one of those things I don't know about that I should?"

Triana stopped herself mid-eye-roll. "No, it's cool, lots of people don't know about it. You can borrow it if you want."

"Thank you," he said, clutching it tighter to his chest.

"No problem."

She started walking. Dean followed her into her dad's part of the compound.

"Are you having fun at your mom's house?"

They were late in the conversation for the whole "how's the new place?" line of questioning, but she could go along with it. "Yeah. It's. . .it's weird, you know? But I think I'm going to be a good sorceress."

They sat down on the couch. "I don't know where Dad is," Triana said, mostly to herself.

"Do you like staying with your mom?"

"Yeah." He nodded, but didn't say anything. She didn't know what the deal was there, so she let the awkward pause settle in before she asked, "What was your mom like?" It seemed like a safe topic.

He turned away from her, and even pulled back on the couch. "I don't know."

"Oh," she said.

"My dad's never even talked about her."

"Oh," she said again. This was not where they were supposed to be going. She was supposed to ask him what was new, and they'd exchange small talk for a while.

"I don't. . ." he started. "I don't know if we even have a mom. I look like Dad, and Hank has Brock's haircut and jacket know, but he doesn't really look like him, so. . .I think we might be clones."

This was more frightening than her closet here, or her new-found direction in life. He was going to cry. They'd become good enough friends that she could read him, a talent she now wished she didn't have. She would trade it for the ability to not ask terrible questions of the poor-- cloned?-- kid, who had never had a mom anyway. The silence stretched out. He wasn't crying, which was impressive in a slightly awful way.

"I'm going to the Dethklok concert. Do. . ." She hesitated. It could be terrible. Or it could be fantastic. Either way, the words were already coming out of her mouth: "Do you wanna come?"

"Like a date?"

"No, no, no," she said quickly. "Kim and a bunch of other people are all riding out together. Kim got the bus from her new job at the Guild of Calamitous Intent. And the tickets."

"She's really going to be in the Guild?"

"I guess so. She's training to be a henchwoman, before going full-on Evil Supervillian. Bring your brother too, if you want. This might be more of his scene."

The silence set in again.

"What's a Dethklok?" Dean asked.

"What--" Triana took a deep breath before finishing her thought. It wasn't his fault. He hardly ever went off the compound. He didn't know anything about popular culture. How would he know about metal? "They're this big-time band."

"Should I have known that?"

"No," she lied. "You're not as weird as you think you are."

"Thank you?"

". . .yeah, I don't know what that was either. I'm sorry."

"I'll like the concert."

Triana shook her head. "No, you probably won't."

"Is it progressive rock?"

"No.

"Oh." He nodded sadly, biting at his lip.

"Well, it's sort of progressive, I guess. It's not the sort of thing I'm usually into, but I told my mom I'd go. My mom says they're tapping into deep occult forces and will bring about the Metalocalypse." She took a deep breath. "You don't have to come if you don't want to, but I thought you might want to, you know, get out of here for a bit without, like. . .being kidnapped by your dad's arch-enemy or whatever," she finished.

"Thank you," he said, smiling. They went their separate ways.

***  
Hank was in the kitchen, reading a comic book and eating cereal.

"Triana has invited me-- both of us-- to accompany her and her friends to a concert," Dean said, breathlessly.

Hank snorted. "Yeah, right. What concert?"

"Death clock, I think."

"Dermott and I are going to that concert too!"

"You guys should totally ride with us in Kim's bus!" Dean paused. ". . .do we say 'Go Team Venture!' now?"

"I don't think so. We never say that now."

"What's a Dethklok?" Dean asked.

"I have absolutely no idea, Dean-o. Dermott said it's the most brutal band ever."

"Is that good?"

"From context, yes."

"Fantastic!"

"He also said there are probably no girls there."

"Then why does Triana want to go?"

"Because she's weird," Hank pronounced.

"Oh."

"We are also weird. We can handle weird."

"Because we're super scientists."

Hank glowered. "You are, maybe."

***

Kim pulled the bus up to the compound gates. "Uhhm, yeah, can someone let me in?" Kim asked. "I'm just picking up Triana and the boys. I am not here on Guild business! Please do not kill me!" She'd been explicitly taught what happened to henchmen at the Venture Compound. She wanted none of them to happen to her. "

The gates opened. Lasers were not pointed at her. Things were looking up.

"Oh thank God," she said, pulling the bus forward. "Everything's cool, guys," she told the scattered henches in the seats behind her.

She parked, and got out to look for Triana.

"Keys," Brock Samson said.

She jumped a little. "What? No. This is my bus," Kim said to Brock.

"And those are my boys. I'm going to keep you all alive, if you don't mind. Keys."

Kim handed over the keys. They trooped onto the bus.

"Something bad's going to go down," Brock told the assembled mass.

"What're we going to do about it?" Triana asked.

"Prop it back up, Batman-style!" Hank said, punching his fist into the palm of his other hand.

"Hank. . .don't say things like that in front of people."

"Sorry, Brock. So, what do we do?"

"We wait. Then, we act."

"That. . .is an awesome plan," Kim said sarcastically to Triana as the bus lurched away from the Compound. "In fact, I think it's the Guild's plan."

"The Guild is so weird," Triana said.

"You're studying to be a sorceress, but my thing's weird?"

"A little, yeah."

"You know, the guild could totally use a sorceress."

"I'm not really into the whole arch nemesis thing. You have to wear those ridiculous clothes."

"You think the costumes are ridiculous? You dress like a five-year-old goth pirate. Your second best friend is the King of the Unironic Retro Fashion Club here."

"Uncool, Kim."

"The Guild is romantic!"

"My dad says that."

"You have just called my entire life plan into question."

"Well, good. It should be called into question. It was dumb."

"It's not dumb."

***

Brock parked the bus. "When we get out there, I want everyone to fan out, buddy-style. Dean, stick with Triana. Hank, stick with...Dermott, was it?"

"Yes, sir," Dermott said, his eyes glowing with pent-up admiration.

"Kim, you're with me."

"Okay, no. I'll go with Triana and you take Dean."

Brock looked at her. "No," he said.

Dean and Triana stuck by Hank and Dermott. Hank took the lead. They wandered around, trying to get closer to the stage.

"What the hell, man?" Hank yelled at Henchman #21. This seemed a somewhat fair question. He was wearing the wings, he was surrounded by other guys with wings, and all around were various henchmen of various supervillians. The concert was a trap, of course. But henchmen were skilled at blindly going into traps.

"What?" Henchman #21 asked, trying for innocence.

"Every time I go anywhere, you guys are there."

"That is just because you suddenly have excellent taste in movies and music," Henchman #21 said.

"This may be true," Hank allowed.

"This is going to be _the_ most brutal concert. . .of all time!" Henchman #21 said. "You are lucky we're here. If we weren't here, some crazed fans could totally kill you."

"What, yeah, like you guys are going to stop them?"

"We totally will, Hank!" He grabbed Hank's shoulders and shook him. "We will protect you!"

"Why?" Hank asked.

"Because it would be brutal," a henchman said. His wings looked newer than his uniform.

"Brutal is good, right?" Hank asked.

Henchman #21 released Hank. "Brutal is absolutely good, and you are so fucking lucky we are here, I'm not even kidding."

"Did you just say the f-word?" Dean asked.

"I totally did! That's what you do at concerts like this!"

"Why are we lucky?" Hank asked.

"Because I don't see your bodyguard anywhere, and shit is about to get real."

"Brock told us to fan out," Dermott said.

"Because shit is getting real?"

"I have no idea what that even means."

"It means that unholy forces will be called upon tonight, and their powers will be vested into all of us," Henchman #21 said.

"Are you crazy?" Triana asked.

Henchman #21 considered this carefully. "Maybe."

A tentacled monstrosity-- not unlike a giant octopus-- hovered over the crowd.

"Is everyone else seeing that?" Dean asked.

"Yes," Henchman #21 said.

"Is that a bad sign?" Dermott asked.

"Absolutely," Triana said. "It's a servant of Cthulhu."

Henchman #21 shook his head. "That is in no way at all possible, but that would be awesome."

The ground began to crack underneath them. Dean clutched at Triana's arm. She patted his shoulder. Dermott and Hank snorted in disgust. "Is the earth trying to devour us?" Dean squeaked.

"Possibly," Triana allowed.

"We're going to die," Hank said.

"Not like it would be for the first time," Henchman #21 said.

A blur moved in front of them, towards the stage. It stilled: it was Molotov Cocktease and her Blackhearts. Henchman #21 was in danger of suffocating on his own tongue. "Who is that...vision?"

"That's Molotov Cocktease," Dean said brightly.

The assembled henchmen and sorceress-in-training stared. Dermott laughed to himself.

"Did," Triana started, before finishing: ". . .you have no idea what slang is, at all, do you?"

"That's the greatest name I've ever heard!" Henchman #21 said. "Seriously. That is awesome."

"Old flame of mine," Hank said.

And with that simple phrase, a whole new level of confusion settled in on the non-Ventures.

"Are you high?" Henchman #21 asked. "Because that would explain a lot."

"She filled in for Brock once," Dean said, by way of explanation. "Helped us out a few times. I wonder if Brock knows she's here too."

"Brock's here?" Henchman #21 asked.

"Yeah. He's back!"

The henchmen who were not Henchman #21 ran away. He looked after them, and narrowed his eyes.

"That will end well for them," he said darkly. He turned back to the Ventures. "That's awesome for you guys. Especially since you're not going to make it to the Quickening."

A few fans who'd over-zealously tried to mosh with Molotov ended up trampled, with strange knife-cuts. Brock looked the other way. It didn't seem like anyone was going to investigate.

There were Guild operatives everywhere. They were distracted by Molotov's Blackhearts, as well as the normal fangirls showing far too much skin.

"They are calling upon Satan himself," Molotov cried out to Brock.

"How do we stop them?" Brock called back.

"We get everyone to leave. They're feeding off the crowd's energy."

"Right," Brock said. He jumped onto the stage. "The concert is now over!" he announced, waving his knife.

There were enough people in the crowd who knew who he was that the crowd began to leave. They dodged the closing fissures in the ground around the stage as they ran back to their vehicles. The hovering tentacled monstrosity dropped to the ground, crushing more than a few fans.

The band glared at Brock. He glared back. "Your polish is chipped," he told Nathan, before jumping off the stage.

"Is that it?" Triana asked.

"That's all he needs to do," Dermott said.

***

Charles Foster Ofdensen paid a visit to the compound that night. He appeared in the kitchen like it was nothing. Brock was making cocoa for the boys.

Then there was that deceptively-looking average man in his nice suit, sitting at the kitchen table.

"I'd like to thank you for stopping whatever it was my boys were going to unleash."

Brock stared at him, then nodded. He looked back at the saucepan before him. Ofdensen was still staring.

Ofdensen hesitated before saying: "You probably hear this a lot, Mr. Samson, but we're not so different, you and I. We both just want to protect our families. Our livelihoods."

Brock glanced at the boys. He read that threat loud and clear. "That it?"

"Yes, that sums it up."

"And you want us to keep quiet?"

"Yes, you are the only loose ends. The Guild is being. . .quite cooperative."

"I bet. Cocoa?"

"No, thank you. You won't try to raise a fuss, Mr. Samson?"

Brock didn't answer.

Ofdensen slipped away in the blink of the boys' eyes.

"What just happened?" Dean asked.

"Nothing." Brock poured the cocoa into mugs. "Drink up. You've had a rough night."


End file.
